Page 63 of Gym With Benefits

It was a bizarre breakaway from my everyday reality, a million miles removed from dusty museum basements and the sweaty platforms of Capitol Fitness.

“His wife must look amazing,” I murmured, taking a sip of the crisp, dry liquid as Brock settled onto a cream-colored velvet sofa, his long legs stretching out with complete comfort.

“I’m good at what I do,” Brock said with a confident grin. He signaled to the consultants, who immediately retrieved a pre-selected assortment of evening gowns. “Go put on the first one. I'll be Richard Gere.”

The next hour dissolved into a playful montage of fabric, zippers, and unapologetic attention. The first option was a crimson floor-length gown with a plunging neckline that made me feel like a screen siren. When I stepped out of the dressing room, Brock’s eyes darkened, his gaze moving over the contours of my body with an appreciative heat that made the champagne bubbles in my stomach fight back. Before I could even reach the three-way mirror, his hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist and pulling me into his lap. The expensive silk rustled as his mouth found mine with a firm, possessive kiss that left me breathless.

“That color is incredible on you,” he whispered against my neck, his thumbs tracing the bare skin of my shoulder blades. It sent a spark shooting down my spine. “But it might cause an actual riot at the reception. Let's see the next one.”

Next came a backless number in midnight-blue, hugging my hips like a second skin. As I emerged, Brock stood up from the sofa, closing the distance between us with three long strides. His hands settled on my waist, fingers digging slightly into the fabric to pull my hips flush against his. He looked down at me, his eyes blazing with a mixture of amusement and pure desire.

“This one,” he declared. “It complements the gray tailored suit I have picked out for myself. We'll look like a power couple walking into that venue.”

I met his arrogance with a challenge of my own. “That's incredibly presumptuous of you.”

“It's not a presumption. Just a factual prediction of future events,” he said, his swagger intact as his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below my ear, causing a shiver to ripple acrossmy shoulders. “Hunter had his little dance-floor moment, but this is the real deal. I play to win.”

The heavy flirting and the thrill of the competition filled the pristine space, but as Brock pulled back slightly to admire the fit of the dress, his eyes narrowed. He noticed the tiny, involuntary tension in my jaw, the silent calculation that always ran in the back of my mind whenever Amberleigh's name entered the equation.

He slid his hands up to my shoulders, his touch grounding and warm. “Hey. There's something else going on in that head of yours. You're smiling, but you're somewhere else. Talk to me.”

I let out a soft sigh, the defensive walls cracking just enough to let the vulnerability show. My fingers tightened around the stem of my empty champagne flute. “I just... I don't want to make the wrong choice, Brock. I want this wedding to be absolutely perfect. I need to walk in there looking like a version of myself that she can't touch. Someone who’s moved past the betrayal. If I mess up the date, or the dress, or the attitude, it feels like she wins all over again.”

His expression softened into a protective sincerity that caught me off guard. He took the crystal glass from my hand and set it on a nearby table, then wrapped his arms securely around my waist, pulling me into the solid comfort of his chest.

“Jess, look at me,” he commanded softly, waiting until my eyes met his. “You're perfect exactly as you are right now. You don't have to put on a performance for this woman, and you don't have to prove a damn thing to someone who treated you like dirt five years ago. You walk into that room with me, or with Hunter, or with Dane, and you're already the biggest prize in the building. You don't need to do anything else.”

The unforced support struck me right in the center of my chest, dissolving the residual anxiety of the past few weeks. A profound wave of affection washed over me, and when he leaned down to kiss me this time, it lacked the playful competitive edge from before. It was a kiss that swept me up in his strength, my hands sliding up into his hair as the luxury boutique faded into the background.

“This doesn't look like dress shopping,” a familiar, cheerful voice sounded from the front entrance.

We broke apart, our breathing slightly uneven as our heads snapped toward the locked glass doors.

Hunter stood just inside the threshold of Maison Vieu, a keycard dangling from his fingers as he offered the consultants a brief nod. A broad, unstoppable grin broke across his handsome face.

Brock didn't let go of my waist, his grip tightening as he fixed Hunter with an annoyed glare. “You're not allowed to hijack my date. Get back to work.”

“Relax,” Hunter said, strolling into the showroom with his hands in the pockets of his track pants. His eyes never left the velvet clinging to my curves, the blue of his iris dark with an unblinking focus. “Things are dead at the gym today. Just thought I'd check up on you guys, make sure the competition stayed fair.”

“You're a terrible liar,” I said, smelling his ulterior motives a mile away.

“I'm a concerned competitor,” Hunter corrected, stopping right at the edge of our plush little island. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray strand of hair near my neck and tucking it behind my ear, his skin hot against my cheek. “And for the record, that dress is definitely the one.”

“You're playing losing defense,” Brock said. “Leave us the room."

“I don't think I will,” Hunter murmured, his smile turning wicked as he picked up on the thick, crackling tension sizzling between the three of us.

The dressing suite behind us featured a private fitting room with padded walls, a massive tri-fold mirror, and a door that locked. Promising total isolation from the consultants outside. A reckless heat started in my stomach as I looked from Hunter's blazing eyes to the tight, competitive line of Brock’s jaw. The portfolio diversification David mentioned required a real test drive, and this offered the perfect laboratory.

I took Hunter’s hand, then Brock’s, and pulled them both toward the suite.

“Since you're both here,” I whispered, my core already throbbing with heat.

24

Hunter

The deadbolt clicked into place with a definitive snap, sealing the three of us inside the plush, velvet-walled dressing room. The illumination from the vanity bulbs cast a warm glow over Jess's flushed skin, lending an ethereal glow to her features.